


Tales of the Past

by starkind



Series: Through the Ages [3]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Same Performer in Different Roles, Star-crossed, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-04 00:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12759138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: “Let me tell you the story about the masked vigilante of Waynewood Forest.”





	Tales of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> This did not leave me alone until I caved in and wrote it down. I know it does not make sense because there's DC's Arrow/Oliver Queen and whatnot, but I just couldn't get this out of my head. I blame Bryan Adams' power ballad and its music video featuring that old 90s movie 'Robin Hood - Prince of Thieves' for my wayward IronBat feels.

A boy not much older than eleven or twelve wandered around the streets of Gotham City. His parents were somewhere in the marketplace, buying food, and he was trying to bridge the tiresome waiting time. A huge bronze monument loomed up in the middle of a smaller alcove, close to the bustling center of the city. Intrigued, the boy ventured over to examine the statue from close up.

Upon a closer look, it turned out to be a man striking a heroic pose, aiming a longbow at an invisible target. A long, billowing cape wafted behind him, and a hood was drawn deep over his face. Except for his eyes, the rest of his face was obscured by a piece of fabric. The boy reached out to touch one massive booted foot and read the inscription on a brass sign bolted underneath. It said:

 _~_ _Dedicated to the People of Gotham ~_  
_Reign of the Caped Crusader: 1189 – 1199  
May our City always Stand up for Freedom and against Injustice_

The boy squinted upward at the hidden facial area again.  
Eventually, his features twisted into plain disbelief.  
“This isn't real."

“... what if I tell you he was?”  
The boy swung around.  
An elderly man stood a few feet away, leaning on a cane, and smiled at him.  
  
“How would you know?”  
At his thoughtful objection, two astute, blue eyes crinkled at the corners.  
“Let me tell you the story about the masked vigilante of Waynewood Forest.”

Once he had the boy's interest, the old man beckoned him over to a nearby bench facing the statue. He lowered onto it with a soft grunt while the boy remained standing in front of him. For a few moments, the man inspected the far-away crowd before he inhaled and began to talk.

“Back in the days, there was a man whom they called the Sheriff of Starkham. Howard the First was a tyrant, cruel to the core. People shuddered in fear whenever they heard his name. He and his wife had a son named Anthony who was going to become the sole heir to Howard's empire.” The boy frowned. “What does that have to do with the masked vigilante?” A white-haired head gave a small tilt.

“You see, Howard of Starkham murdered the parents of a young lad by the name of Bruce Robin of Waynewood in cold blood. He did so because Sir Thomas of Waynewood refused to sell him his property, Waynewood Forest and its Palisades, knowing fully well the Sheriff was going to enslave the people and take their land.”

“Were the Waynewoods good people?”

“Oh, yes. They were fortunate to live prosper, wealthy lives, but they always saw to giving to the poor, trying to ease the daily struggles of the people living in their vicinity. Sir Thomas was a doctor, you see, and one who offered his help without wanting anything in return. His wife Martha was one of the kindest, most beautiful women Gotham had ever encountered. They both did not deserve such cruel fate.”

The narrator fell quiet and looked at something in the distance for the longest time. The boy began to shift from one foot to the other. “And then what?” Watery blue eyes blinked a few times, then the elderly cleared his throat. 

“By a miracle, young Bruce escaped the slaughter, though he was not seen around Waynewood Forest for many years to come. At some point however, about seven years later, he returned from his travels, which had supposedly taken him far across the seas and the countries, to seek revenge for his parents' deaths. At the age of 20, he had become one of the finest archers the country had ever seen.”

The young boy slowly sunk down onto the bench next to the man. “So did he murder Howard of Starkham?”

“No. As it turned out, Howard the First and his wife Maria had already been killed in an armed robbery by that time. It had left their son Anthony to take the reins of his father's empire when the boy was still at a young age at that time, barely 21, so he did what every spoiled child would have done – he went and abused his wealth and power, living a languishing life without caring for the hungry and the poor.”

“So he was as bad as his father.”

“By the means of his upbringing, he was simply too callow and naïve to know better. That changed, however, when he encountered a masked man in the forests one night, just as he was about to ride his steed back from where he had been out gambling and drinking wine in the taverns, as usual.” The young listener looked over at the lithic statue with awe. “The Caped Crusader.” The elderly nodded.

“No one knew it was Bruce of Waynewood behind that mask. He gave the young Sheriff of Starkham a good scare that night, but did not harm him.”

“What did he do instead?”

“He told him he needed to pay more attention to his people instead of living a profligate existence. Needless to say, Anthony was not amused. Bold from alcohol, he thus demanded a duel at sunrise the other day.” The boy's eyes lit up at the prospect of a vicious battle scene about to be told. “And that was where they killed each other in a long, bloody sword fight?” The elderly pursed his lips. An affectionate glint lay in his eyes.  
  
“No, that was where they fell in love.”  
Confusion and surprise mingled on the youngster's face.  
“But... how?”  
  
A benign smile.  
“Because that is how hearts work sometimes; against all odds and insurmountable differences.”  
“And then... what?”

“Bruce took him along to where he had assembled a ragtag group of outlaws, deep in the forests of Waynewood. Once Anthony saw how little they had and still managed to give, he learned not everything in the kingdom was shining gold.” The boy nodded as he let the words sink in. "So they became friends... or more than that." The elder man drew his coat tighter around his frail frame and looked up at the statue.  
  
“Unfortunately, fate had different plans.”  
  
“How so?”

“Ever since his childhood, Anthony was meant to be wedded to Princess Virginia. She was a lovely maiden with flowing red hair, but she was nowhere able to capture his heart the way Bruce of Waynewood had. Once the latter learned about this, he kept on trying to drive him away, telling him Anthony should not stay loyal to someone he would not have a future with.”

“How did that go?”

“Anthony took it bad. With the worst of hell spilling from his mouth, they parted in anger.”

“And?”

“Before the wedding, the young Sheriff of Starkham ordered his men to bring him the biggest thorn in his side who was roaming the streets at night, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.”

“Which was...”

“The Caped Crusader, yes.”

“But he knew it was Bruce of Waynewood under the hood!”

“Hurt emotions can make for the worst of decisions, young lad. Anthony might not have had it planned for his unrequited love to take physical harm, but he had not calculated upon the brutality of his mercenaries.” He paused for breath and adjusted his grip on his cane. The boy seemed to hold his breath and squirmed on the bench. “Why? What happened?”

“His father's old accomplice, the Earl of Stanington was as ruthless a man as Howard the First had been. He was the one to bring down and capture the Caped Crusader in a more-than devious ruse. Without preamble, he then had him incarcerated at the torture chambers of Starkham Towers.”

“Did Anthony come to rescue him?”

“Once he learned of it, he was outraged and furious beyond belief. By the time he had made his way deep down into the cavities of the large castle, Stanington had already tortured and unmasked Bruce of Waynewood. He said he was going to have him publicly hanged at Anthony's upcoming wedding.” Two brows crinkled with heartfelt repulsion. “Of course Anthony would not let that happen!”

“Indeed he would not. A sword fight erupted, during which the Earl of Stanington was killed. Shaken to the bone, Anthony then freed his wounded beloved and took him into a secret wing of his towers to rest and heal.”

“But there was still that wedding.”

“Right you are. Once he was well enough again, Bruce demanded answers.”

“Did he know Anthony was behind his capture?”

“What words were spoken between them remains a mystery, but some sources say he did confess.”

“Resulting in what?”

“Some say they exchanged their vows in a clandestine ceremony never to be accepted by the people of their time. Others say they parted ways, heartbroken, knowing fully well their individual fates would never allow them to be together. In any case, the Caped Crusader kept on fighting against injustice until one fateful battle down in an area known today as the Narrows.” 

“And the Sheriff of Starkham?”

“Drank himself to death after learning the Caped Crusader had been fatally wounded.”

The boy's face fell.

“That's just sad.”

The elder man's bony hands gripped the knob handle of his wooden cane tight for a moment. Then he smiled. "His spirit remains alive. The Caped Crusader is not truly dead as long as someone keeps on telling the tale of the bold outlaw of Waynewood Forest and the Palisades." They both looked up in unison at the unmoving bronze statue in mutual, comfortable silence until a female voice echoed over the place.  
  
“Richard? Richard!”  
The boy saw his parents standing in the archway leading to the marketplace, waiting for him.  
“I have to go. Thank you for the story.”

The older man smiled.

“It was my pleasure, Master Richard.”

 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> The timeframe for the Caped Crusaders reign is the same as King Richard's, because according to Wiki: "[...] Robin Hood is typically seen as a contemporary and supporter of the late-12th-century King Richard the Lionheart."  
> source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robin_Hood
> 
> The bronze statue in this story was inspired by this picture, found on Pinterest via Google pic search:  
> https://i.pinimg.com/originals/5e/01/51/5e015188da4abbaf3110a87b4395c9db.jpg


End file.
